“Slip off the dress,” he ordered.
It was like shedding a coat, and she held the dress across her arm, not wishing to drop it on the floor. Reaching across he took it from her hand, laying it across his desk.
“My, this is breathtaking. Come with me.”
Standing up, he took her hand and led her to the couch, pulling her over his knee as he sat. She said not a word, but closed her eyes, waiting breathlessly for what was to come.
The torso tight lingerie enhanced her bottom, and seeing her naked from the waist down was delicious. His hands fondled and caressed, slipping between her legs, exploring her soaked sex, and squeezing and pinching her thighs. Her moans of delight and whimpers of warm joy compelled him to continue, and when he began to circle and press her sweet little nub, her breathing accelerated and she split her legs apart, silently begging for more.
“Sweet Belle,” he crooned, stroking her bottom, “there is no climax for you tonight. Nor in the morning.”
She moaned and wriggled, mutely protesting the news.
“This will better prepare you for your dance with the flogger tomorrow evening,” he explained, “and you will wear this. It is absolutely perfect for the event.”
Taking her by the elbow, he pulled her up, cradling her in his arms.
“Simon,” she breathed, “how will I ever sleep?”
“You will, and if you don’t, you’ll more than make up for it after we finish tomorrow night, I promise you.”
A short time later, cuddled in their bed, the low fire warming the room, the rain having abated to a quiet patter, Belle squeezed her thighs in aching need, but in spite of her carnal hunger she found sleep did come calling, and she dreamed of chains and whips and heights of passion.
Simon too, answered sleep’s knock on his door, drifting off to visions of Belle’s bottom cavorting with his black flogger, its long, thin tendrils bringing her to the edge of a mountain.
As Belle and Simon were responding to the sandman’s dust, Amaranth was focused on the sacred spot between her virginal pussy lips, rubbing herself furiously towards her goal, visions of standing naked before Simon, her husband, waiting for his inspection. He was circling, dressed in his very fine, charcoal grey, three-piece-suit, scrutinizing, nodding, occasionally touching. His fingers reached out, tweaking a nipple, and Amaranth caught her breath, raising her free hand to imitate the fantasy. He told her to spread her legs, and she parted them on her bed, touching the special entry that he would touch on that most sacred of occasions, just after they had been pronounced man and wife.
It must happen, and soon. Her time was coming, their time was coming. It was ordained, and her fiery moment burned through her, making her pant and gasp, and she smiled happily in the sure knowledge that it was only a matter of days before he would be proclaiming his love for her.
Belle Somers, you are a foolish little girl, and if you don’t go quietly I shall be more than happy to make your departure from this house, and this world, permanent.
A new plan began forming in her head. It was so much better than the plan to show Simon the notes of the illicit affair. As the details began to take shape, the smile transformed into a frown of concentrated effort.
Yes, this will work. This is genius.
As promised, the following morning Simon dallied his fingers against her sex, teased and kissed and cuddled, bringing her to the verge of the precipice twice before allowing her to rest. Rising from the bed he took a hot shower, delivering himself a much needed release after enjoying her charms, knowing she would attain the greatest of pleasures later that night.
Returning to the bedroom he found her sitting up, her full, luscious breasts beckoning him back to the bed.
“It’s not fair, sitting there looking so gorgeous. How am I expected to resist you?” he asked moving towards her.
“Fair? Fair? Seriously? Who’s laying here hungry as a hornet over a honey spill?” she quipped.
“Now there’s an interesting graphic. As hungry as a hornet over a honey spill? Am I even supposed to know what that means?” he inquired, leaning over to pinch a nipple.
“You know exactly,” she answered pretending to pout.
“I would suggest you get your butt out of that bed and into the shower, and no cheating,” he ordered firmly.
“First, I fully intend to get my butt out of this bed because I’m starving, and second, I’m not a cheat,” she declared poking out her chin.
“But you are a very cheeky girl,” he smiled, “and you know what happens to very cheeky girls. Considering what you have to look forward to, I would think you’d be on your very best behavior.”
“Well, that just goes to show you,” she declared, “what you think isn’t always correct.”
Simon shook his head, and watched her roll out from between the sheets, grab some clothes from the chest of drawers, and pad into the bathroom, looking at him over her shoulder and winking. It took all his restraint not to grab her, toss her over the bed, spank her soundly, and fuck her for an hour.
A little while longer and we will both be in heaven, he sighed.
Wandering over to her armoire, he studied the four dresses hanging before him, selecting the one he wanted her to wear that night. It was white, sheer and flowing, and crossed over the breasts to a full skirt. Being white, the red corset would probably show through, but that couldn’t be helped. Everything else about it was just right.
He could hear the shower running and pulled on the bell-cord, signaling they would be down for breakfast soon, then wandering across to the window he looked out into the day. The rain had cleared, though the road still appeared to be wet, but there was sunshine peeking through the trees, and the manicured lawns were glistening. Belle was changing his life, washing away doubts and fears, as the rain had washed the world upon which he gazed. She was truly the most extraordinary woman he’d ever known.
Toweling off, Belle pulled on her new jeans and a warm sweater. She loved the jeans, though they weren’t really jeans, they just looked like them. The material was soft and forgiving, and almost felt like soft flannel. The sweater, fleecy pink cashmere, caressed her skin, and she sighed as she contemplated what she could possibly have done to receive such bounty.
Though the material aspect of life with Simon was thrilling, it didn’t begin to compare to the depth of feeling she experienced in his arms. Brushing her hair and dabbing on some makeup, she tried to think of a word that could describe it, but the English language fell short. Then it occurred to her, perhaps that was the word. Indescribable.
“What would Madame like to do with her time today?” he asked, over sausages and fried eggs.
“Madame would like to enjoy whatever pleasures the Master Of The House might have in store,” she replied.
“Does Madame know how to ride?”
Belle sighed and shook her head.
“It is with great regret that Madame must confess she does not, though it is something that she has often wished for.”
“We have some very gentle horses here,” he smiled. “I’ll take you on a ride through the woods. I’ll put you on a sweet little mare called Jazzie. You’ll love her, and you’ll be completely safe.”
“Oh, Simon, that would be fantastic,” she exclaimed. “What should I wear? I don’t have boots or anything.”
“Not to worry. I entertain here a great deal and have a closet full of boots and breeches of all sizes. I’m sure you’ll be outfitted in no time.”
Excited at the prospect of sitting on a horse for the first time, Belle hurried through the remainder of her breakfast, then waited impatiently for Simon to finish his. Leading her to the back of the house, he ushered her into a room that had hanging racks of breeches, shirts and jackets, and a row of men’s and women’s boots lined up along the wall, all shining as if they’d just been polished.
“You weren’t kidding,” she remarked. “Why so many?”
“I told you, I do a lot of entertaining here, and w
hen people come up who have never ridden before, like you, my dear, and would like to sit on a horse, I want to make sure they’ll be comfortable.”
“Heavens,” she exclaimed, thinking money really did make a lot of things possible.
“I think you’ll be a 28 long,” he suggested, staring at her, then turning his attention to the racks, pulled out three pairs of breeches and two shirts.
“One of these will fit, I’m sure,” he said, handing them to her, “and you’ll need these,” he added, opening a plastic container, pulling out a new pair of very long socks. “I’ll be right back. Going to get changed myself.”
Belle undressed, pulled on the socks, then found the pair of breeches and the shirt that felt the most comfortable. Not sure what to do about the boots, she padded out into the hallway, but stopped short as she saw him walking towards her.
He looked like a man who had just stepped out of a romance novel. In beige riding pants, a forest green turtleneck sweater and knee-high boots, he looked even taller than he was, and about the most handsome thing she’d ever seen in her life.
“My God, Simon, you are gorgeous in those clothes. You must seduce me wearing them, you absolutely must.”
“Must I?” he quipped. “I think I can manage that. You look very cute yourself. Let’s find you the right pair of boots.”
Following her back to the clothing room, her bottom moving provocatively in the tight fitting breeches, he could easily imagine riding her out into the deepest part of the forest, tying her to a tree and delivering some very impressive swats with his crop, first with her breeches on, then with them dangling ungracefully around her knees. If his plans for that evening weren’t so crystal clear and deeply imbedded in his heart, he would have done exactly that. He settled with a promise to himself that the such a scenario would transpire at some point in the not too distance future.
Boots and helmets found and donned, they headed to the barn. The workers snapped to attention as they saw Simon approach and began to prepare his mount, a big-boned, impressive gelding called Hammond, while a young stable lad led out a much smaller mare for Belle. Fascinated and intrigued, she watched them go about their work, as Simon patiently explained some basic rules.
“Jazzie is very sweet and mild. She won’t shy at anything, she won’t take off. Even if Hammond gets upset she won’t, she’ll just stop and watch. She’s as safe as houses.”
“I don’t know why, but I’m not scared or anything. Just excited,” she exclaimed.
The groom led Jazzie to a mounting block, and Belle climbed the steps and on to the horse, breaking into a huge grin. It was rare for someone who had never sat on a horse to appear so confident and Simon was delighted and impressed by her pluckiness.
“Oh my gosh, I love it up here. I never want to get off.”
The groom laughed, showed her how to hold the reins, how to pull gently to stop, and right and left as she wanted.
“Jazzie will do whatever you tell her. You just be kind. She’ll take care of you,” he assured her.
Belle reached down and patted the mare’s neck, waiting while Simon mounted his much bigger horse, then stared at him in awe. He looked like a prince, a true aristocrat on his noble steed, as if he should be leading a hunt, or cantering off across the field, and her heart swelled with pride and admiration.
“Ready?” he asked, expertly making Hammond behave, the horse eager to get moving.
“Oh yes, definitely,” she declared.
“Good. Just follow me. Hammond will move ahead at first, then he’ll slow down, then I’ll wait for you to catch up.”
“Okay,” she answered, not in the least bit worried.
Hammond did exactly what Simon had said he would, while Jazzie moved along at a nice walk. It took Belle a few minutes to get used to the feeling, but once she did she felt completely at home. Simon was quite a distance ahead when Hammond finally slowed to a stop, allowing Belle to catch up.
“I want to do this every day for the rest of my life!” she announced. “Simon, I positively love this.”
Studying her happy face, Simon was overjoyed. Not only was Belle sweet and smart and sexy and submissive, she was brave and fun, and in her own unique, gentle way, really quite fearless.
“When we get back to London I’ll arrange for some lessons. Would you like that?”
“Are you kidding? I would love it. Oh my gosh. Thank you.”
Heading into the forest, Hammond now relaxed and happy, they wandered around the trees, through a little creek and across a wide open field. The dark sky had given way to white, billowy clouds, and as Simon led her down a track to loop around and head back home, Belle felt an unexpected wave of sadness, then fear.
It was all too perfect.
The landscape was a postcard, a perfect vista; the adorable little mare upon whom she sat was a perfect pony; the stunning Simon so near her, dressed so exquisitely, was perfect; the manor with its secret passageways and dark, delicious dungeon was perfect; her new clothes were perfect; everything was perfect!
Life isn’t perfect, there’s no such thing as perfect. This isn’t real. It can’t be real. I can’t believe in it, it can’t be real.
Glancing down, Simon saw her frown. The happy, excited expression had been replaced with one of consternation.
“Belle, are you all right?”
The lump in her throat had inexplicably grown into a large, hot rock, and she couldn’t swallow or speak as the fear clutched her heart. Staring up at him, she felt the uncontrollable tears escape her from her eyes. Alarmed, Simon jumped off his horse and hurried across to her.
“What is it? Do you need to get off. What on earth’s the matter?” he asked urgently.
“I can’t explain it. I’m, I’m, incredibly, totally, utterly scared.”
“Come on, I’ll help you off,” he declared, shocked at the confession. She had appeared to be so comfortable on the mare.
“It’s not the horse. I’m not scared of the horse,” she managed. “I’m, everything, Simon it’s all too perfect. My life has never been perfect, it can’t be perfect. I’m so happy, so incredibly happy, and I’m so afraid of the end. I mean, how can I go back to my stupid life now? What if you get tired of me, I mean, you’re used to being with lots of girls, and big business, and parties and I’m just plain old Belle Somers. You’re an everything and I’m a nothing,” she finished, a huge wave of emotion overwhelming her, and dropping her head on the little mare’s neck, she bawled into her mane, adding, “and Jazzie is perfect too, and I already love her and what if I never see her again.”
Her words had tumbled out one after the other, all her doubts and fears and terror exploding in one, huge, unexpected, emotional confession.
Listening to her, Simon experienced the same hot lump in his throat. She had every right to be so frightened. He had his own such fears. Reaching up, he lifted her gently from the saddle and stood her in front of him, holding her tightly. She sobbed and sobbed, and he waited patiently until her tears finally began to abate.
“My dearest,” he said hoarsely, fighting his own flood of feelings as he pulled her back to face him. “I don’t want you to go anywhere. I don’t even want you to leave the bedroom when you go to take a shower. I don’t want to leave the house every day because you’re in it. I think about you all the time, and I mean all the time. There are no guarantees, but from where I’m standing, perfect is working, because I think you as perfect as a woman can be.”
“You, you do?” she stammered, her face so wet from her copious tears she had to use the sleeve of her shirt to wipe them away.
“Of course,” he replied, then broke into laughter.
“What?” she asked angrily, thinking he was chuckling at her.
“I was just thinking, people go through their whole lives wishing things could be perfect, and here we are, experiencing perfection, and all we can do is worry about it.”
“You’re worried too?” she asked, stunned by his vague admittance.
“How can I not be? You’ve given me so much, Belle. More than you can imagine. I have just as many fears as you, and the thing is, fear is our only adversary, and it’s an adversary of our own making.”
She frowned into his sparkling blue eyes. “Wow. That’s heavy. That should be in a book or something.”
“Are you feeling better? Do you believe me? You don’t have to go anywhere, you don’t have to leave me, not unless you want to. I want you to stay, I really, really do.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere,” she said quietly. “I really, really don’t.”
He hugged her again, and the tears stopped, and she stared at the ground.
“Now what?” he asked.
“Now I feel embarrassed,” she admitted.
“That’s not acceptable,” he announced. “Come on, up on the horse. Let’s get back to the house for a cup of tea.”
“Oh, a cup of tea. Yes. Perfect,” then realizing what she’d just said, she giggled.
They found a large tree trunk from which they could mount, and rode back to the house, taking their time, Simon pointing out areas of interest as they did. By the time they walked into the stable yard, the horses were happy to be home, ready for a sponge down and a snack, and Belle and Simon were craving their own afternoon tea.
It was served with the requisite scones and finger sandwiches in the cozy sitting room, and though the sun was still shining, a late afternoon breeze was rustling through the trees, bringing in cold air from the north. Simon started a fire as Belle poured the tea into the fine porcelain cups, and they settled into the comfortable sofa, sighing contentedly.
“I think,” he began, “when we finish this, we should head upstairs for a quick shower and a long nap. We have an interesting evening ahead and I don’t want you yawning.”
Belle looked at him with wide eyes.
“Yawning? You think I’ll be yawning, while you flail away at me. Oh, sure, I’ll definitely be yawning. Just the thought of being tied up, wearing nothing but a corset, and having some leather thingie-me-bob lashing away at my butt, makes me want to do nothing but yawn!”
The British Billionaire Bachelor, Act Two Page 11